The moment Eryndor, Kaelus, and Darius passed deeper into Atlas, the world folded.
Not collapsed—
folded, like space had been pinched and tucked inside itself.
The corridor narrowed into an alley of black stone and pale sigils, walls too smooth, too deliberate. The ceiling stretched upward far beyond what the exterior tower should allow.
Eryndor slowed.
"…This structure," he said calmly, eyes glowing faintly with stormlight, "isn't linear."
Darius' shadow rippled unnaturally across the ground, stretching where it shouldn't.
"It's a pocket dimension," he confirmed. "Layered inside the tower. Whoever built Atlas didn't just stack floors—they stacked spaces."
Kaelus rolled his shoulders, unease crawling up his spine.
"Guys," he said, voice lower now, "do you feel that?"
Eryndor and Darius stopped at the same time.
Both tilted their heads upward.
"Yeah," Eryndor replied.
"About fifty meters up," Darius added.
Pressure.
Not killing intent—authority.
They reached the end of the alley.
The space opened abruptly into a wide circular chamber, the stone floor etched with ancient sigils that pulsed dimly like a heartbeat. At the far end sat a man, cross-legged, relaxed, as though waiting for guests.
Behind him—
A door.
Black, seamless, rimmed with faint golden runes.
Kaelus cracked his neck.
"I got him," he said simply.
Eryndor didn't argue.
Neither did Darius.
They walked past Kaelus without another word, footsteps echoing as they approached the door.
The moment they crossed the threshold—
TWANG.
An enchanted arrow screamed through the air, wrapped in layered spellwork—piercing, binding, annihilating all at once.
It never reached them.
Storm energy surged instinctively from Eryndor's body, lightning and wind coiling into an invisible barrier. The arrow shattered mid-air, reduced to glowing fragments that evaporated before touching the ground.
Eryndor smiled.
He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders, and held out his hands—palms open, posture relaxed.
"Gentlemen," he said lightly, voice echoing through the expanding space,
"shall we begin?"
The chamber answered.
Doors slid open along the walls.
Portals flared to life.
An army surged forward.
One hundred figures.
Ninety-five arcane and ether masters—veterans, assassins, battle mages, each radiating lethal discipline.
And five—
Five low deities.
Their presence alone bent the air, divine pressure pressing down like gravity made heavier.
They charged.
No speeches.
No hesitation.
Just coordinated slaughter.
Eryndor didn't move.
He stood calmly as the wave closed in, cloak fluttering in the pressure.
Beside him, Darius' lips curved upward.
"Shadow Hands."
The shadows beneath the charging army twitched.
Then—
They reached.
Elsewhere.
Kaelus stopped ten paces from the seated man.
The man rose smoothly, earth responding to his will as stone flowed up his legs like armor. His stance shifted—low, grounded, balanced. A martial artist's posture, refined and lethal.
"I am Garron Vale," the man said evenly.
"Number Ten of Atlas."
The ground pulsed beneath his feet.
"Earth magic. Reinforced body. Close-combat mastery."
His eyes sharpened.
"You and your friends shouldn't have walked in here."
Kaelus grinned, wind flowing faintly beneath his skin.
"You'll all die."
Kaelus cracked his knuckles.
"I'm not so sure about that."
And the tower trembled—
as multiple battles ignited at once.